The End of the Line
by Breakinglight11
Summary: A missing scene from "Avengers: Endgame." When Steve had nothing, he had Bucky. In a low, uncertain moment, Steve turns to his friend, who has hope for him that even Steve himself has given up.


This is the full version of the conversation Steve recalls with Bucky in another of my "Forever Captain" stories, "As Long as He Needs" (s/13281966/1/As-Long-as-He-Needs). This work is remixed from that fic.

I put special effort into making the complete conversation flow as a discrete unit, so I think it makes sense as a logical precursor to "As Long as He Needs."

* * *

**_Avengers: Endgame_  
"The End of the Line"**  
By Phoebe Roberts

Bucky came to him as he was getting ready, sidling up and looking Steve over with a concerned eye. "You all right?"

A reflexive affirmative came to his lips, but this was Bucky, who could always see right through him. "Yeah, it's just…" He sighed, dropping his head. "I'm tapped out."

Bucky nodded, corners of his mouth turning down. "I don't blame you. After everything you've been through."

"We've all been through it."

"Maybe. But doesn't change things for you."

"Doesn't matter. There's things to be done." Steve forced a smile, tipping his head to the side. "That's what Captain America's for."

Bucky regarded him. "You don't have to do this."

"Of course I do. It needs to be finished."

"You could wait a while."

"No." Steve was surprised at his own forcefulness. "I need this."

"Need this?" Bucky echoed. "Why?"

Steve didn't know how to answer for a long moment. "Because… I don't know what else to do."

Bucky was silent for a time too, tugging at the glove on his metal hand. "Can I ask you something?"

Steve turned to look at him.

"What would you want to do, if you weren't Captain America?"

Steve stared. "What?"

"If you didn't have to do this," Bucky said. "If you could— do anything. Anything at all. What would you want to do?"

His voice strangled in his throat as absurd things occurred to him then, impossible things he should have long since let go. He tried to sweep them aside, reach for anything else. But there was nothing beneath it, and he lost all words staring into that void.

His friend was watching him, waiting for his response. He averted his gaze. "Come on, Bucky."

"No." The other man grew intense for a moment, then softened, voice dropping. "It's okay if the answer's her."

Even now, after all that time and everything they'd been through, Bucky knew him— knew him better than anybody. Steve turned to him, lip curling. "What do you want me to say?" he asked. "White picket fence, couple kids? Getting old and gray together?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Because it's impossible." He swallowed hard. "She already had all that, and it wasn't with me. I missed my chance."

"Steve," Bucky said, very seriously. "What if you didn't?"

He turned away and paced, unable to meet his friend's gaze. "I don't know, Bucky. You don't get second chances with this sort of thing. It's not how it's supposed to work."

Bucky laughed. "There's a lot of _supposed to_ that hasn't had anything to do with us. Christ, look at us— a pair of super soldiers, a hundred years out of our time, dealing with aliens and wizards and— God know what else." He spread his hands, and his voice dropped. "And the fact is… you do have a second chance."

Bucky did not explain further, but it hung unspoken between them. He was about to travel through time, to any moment in the past he wanted. He could go back, back to their own time— back to Peggy, if he wanted, to tell her what he'd wanted to tell her since that day behind enemy lines in France in the thick of the war.

Every time it had been asked of him, he'd chosen that duty. From his enlistment, to his volunteering for Erskine's experiment, to the day he'd put that bomber in the ice, and every day beyond. As a soldier, a SHIELD agent, an Avenger, a man. To do the right thing, and what the world needed from Captain America. What right did he have to decide anything, to take anything for himself, that would turn him away from the world when they'd come to depend on him?

He struggled to explain it to his friend. "Wouldn't that mean… I was abandoning my responsibilities?" He swallowed. "It's… what I'm for. I don't know if I get to just… put it all down."

"Is that really all you're good for?" Bucky asked him, very gently. "Throwing yourself on grenades?"

To hear it said in such stark terms gave him pause. He tried, if not to argue, then to explain. "It's not— it's not about me. It's about… what has to be done—"

"You gave your life once already. And you still didn't quit. When is it enough?"

Steve stared at him, almost pleading. "I— I don't know," he confessed. "I don't know if it will ever be enough." And he didn't, not for anything. Not to save to the world, not to do the right thing, not even to look himself in the mirror and believe he'd done all right.

Bucky's eyes narrowed. "So… what?" An edge of anger surged into his voice. "You've got to— just burn yourself out, or else you're letting everybody down? Pour out every last drop, because that's the only way you'll be good enough?"

Steve gritted his teeth. "Bucky—"

His friend moved in close. "What do you have to do, Steve? How much do you have to give up and suffer through, before you get to be good enough?"

He made no answer. He didn't know how. How could he ever know, when there would always be more battles to fight? When the world would never stop needing, no matter what he did?

"Somebody's got to do it," was all he could manage.

"So why's it always gotta be you?" Bucky shook his head. "Who died and made you Jesus?"

Steve had to laugh despite himself. That was the trouble, he supposed, of taking so much upon your own shoulders— you made yourself awfully important.

Bucky moved in close, laid a hand upon his shoulder. "Don't get me wrong, there's only one you, Steve. I've got no doubt about that. But… you're not the only superhero in the world anymore. Let somebody else carry the shield for a while."

Steve snorted; they'd gathered the broken pieces of vibranium from the battlefield where Thanos had left them. "There isn't even a shield to carry anymore."

"Great. Even easier."

Steve grinned crookedly and spread his hands. "Oh, yeah? You want to do this?"

Bucky barked a laugh. "Be Captain America? Not a chance in hell— I've seen what it's done to you. But… you've got good people now. Don't you have faith in them?"

Steve dipped his head, suddenly chastened. It was not fair to discount the enormous courage, integrity, and valor of the people he'd fought beside. They weren't only teammates or colleagues or even heroes; they had become his friends. After everything he'd given up to carry on as Captain America in the Twenty-First Century, they were the one thing he'd gained— their friendship, that family. The people without whom he never would have survived to keep picking himself back up.

Bucky's eyes regarded him so solemnly. "And we want you to be happy, Steve."

Steve looked at his best friend then, the one for whom he had fought and sacrificed, the one connection to his old life he'd managed to keep. "And what about you, Buck?"

He shook his head. "There's no undoing what's been done to me. I have a chance now, maybe, to… get past it. Move forward, someday. And that's all thanks to you. But the rest is up to me now; there's nothing more you can do. For you, though… maybe you can do something."

"Do you really think…" Steve swallowed hard; when he tried to speak again, his throat felt as if it had closed up. "Do you really think I could go back?"

Bucky leaned in close. "As long as I've known you, you've only ever wanted three things. You've taken care of me. And you've been doing right by the world for as long as I can remember. All that leaves… is her."

He still hadn't made up his mind when Bucky came to say goodbye, just before he finally departed. The idea was twisting unresolved in him, but his friend seemed to have some quiet assurance in his bearing when they spoke. "I'm going to miss you."

"Don't do anything stupid until I get back," Steve told him, as Bucky had to him so many times before.

"How could I?" Bucky gave him a ghost of the grin he'd had all those years ago. "You're taking all the stupid with you."

All their lives, Bucky had been looking out for him. Pulling him out of scrapes when he'd been a scrawny kid, too stubborn to know what was good for him. Watching his back through mission after mission in the Second World War. Fighting through a fog of brainwashing and programming to remember who he was. When he'd had nothing, he'd had Bucky, the friend who wanted nothing more for him than to find some way to be happy.

He had the stones safely packed away in a case in one hand, Mjolnir gripped in the other. Thanks to the Pym-Van Dynes' shrink technology, he was equipped with everything he could possibly need— supplies, disguises, tools. And into one pocket of his belt, he made sure to slip his compass, Peggy's photo tucked inside, the one thing that had come with him for every step of his journey.

If Bucky believed it could be all right… maybe it could be. Bucky was with him until the end of the line.

"How long is this going to take?" Sam had asked, just before he'd left.

"For us, just a few minutes," Bruce answered. "But he has as long as he needs."

Coordinates set on his watch, Steve made the jump. For however long that was.


End file.
